Happiness
by djEskimo
Summary: Happiness Trilogy 1/3. Post Aliyah: Ziva and the team cope. TIVA - NCIS Family
1. 1: Happiness

**Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS. If I did… then… well, it probably wouldn't be successful.**

**a/n: The end of Aliyah made me sad. Crazy seeing as it was such a happy episode, right? [/sarcasm] This is what I did to appease my anxiety. Should be a multi-chaptered fic from a couple POVs.**

**First up: Ziva:**

**--==--**

-=-

"Why does NCIS interest you?" The words come out as a hoarse whisper, the unfortunate and painful result of twenty-eight hours without water.

"That is not information you need to know." He adds a slap across my already bruised face for extra effect. I feel no more pain then I did a second ago; I am not sure it is possible to.

"I don't think anything I know will be of importance"

"And what makes you say that?"

His breath reeks of cigarette, a stench I know I should be used to by now.

"I probably know as much as you do. You would not be questioning me if you didn't have intel already." Every word hurts to utter, but I know I have to talk. It is my only semblance of control. He lets out a dry chuckle before turning around and walking away slowly. I am not sure how far he goes before stopping; one eye can only give me so much depth perception.

"Let me rephrase my original question. Tell me what you know of the people inside NCIS."

The nagging pang in my heart resurfaces with a passion. The people inside NCIS; the people whom I had left. The people whom I had betrayed. The man who then betrayed me.

"There are many, and I cannot say I know most of them."

His smile is disconcerting to say the least.

"I am only interested in one that you know."

"Only one?" It is getting harder to talk, but I know I must continue. Silence only brings his anger, and his anger precedes my pain.

"I am not interested in… Agent McGee, or Agent DiNozzo." The pang comes back full-force. "Not even your... Agent Gibbs, yes?"

"Let me guess then… Ducky Mallard?"

His smile is back, which discomfits me.

"Leon Vance."

I snort, pretending like I did not know it was coming. Of course it was Vance. NCIS's very own enigma.

"I certainly cannot be of any help to you then." It is the truth. I know as much about Vance as Gibbs knows about computers. Enough to get by, but nothing beyond.

"I think you will."

"Even if I were planning on giving you any information, I honestly could not tell you the first thing about him."

He doesn't blink. "What do you know?"

"Well, he has a strange fixation with toothpicks. Oh, and a strong distaste for coffee." Tony's words coming out of my mouth.

He laughs and turns around again.

"What do you think is going to happen to you, Miss David?"

I was not expecting that, and I'm momentarily thrown off guard as he faces me again.

"Do you think you will just walk away from here? Do you think you will ever see your father again? Your NCIS agents again? You are not thinking this through."

"That is not much incentive to get me to talk."

"If you cooperate, we might make your death more pleasant."

"Yes, you have done a great job of that so far"

"You have yet to cooperate."

"Fine. You want to know something about Vance?" I ask. I know I am going to regret this later on. He raises his eyebrows slightly and takes a step closer.

I know I am going to regret this later.

I take a deep breath and look him in the eyes.

"Leon Vance… He does not want anyone to know this…" I take a dramatic pause, before continuing on in true DiNozzo fashion, "He is going gray."

"I'm sorry?" My captor's anticipation is soon replaced by a look of sheer confusion.

"His hair. It has lost its color. He may even be balding, that is probably why-" My sentence ends with the sound of his fist hitting my jaw. On my good side too.

He mutters something in a language I am sure I know but am unable to comprehend before turning on his heel and exiting the cell.

My jaw aches, yet I find I do not regret it as much as I had predicted.

-=-

I am vaguely aware of a faint tapping, almost like water dripping, as I wake. The minimal amount of light coming through the window tells me it is almost daybreak. Or night fall. It is hard to differentiate.

The tapping gets no louder, and I am relatively certain it is a hallucination, or a serious ear problem. Neither option is particularly appealing

I am alone. I probably should have observed that earlier. My cognition is all off, though I do not really think I should be blamed for this.

Or should I be? I mean after all, I am the one who volunteered. I am the one who asked Gibbs to leave his surrogate son for me. What was I expecting? Gibbs to throw Tony to under the bus because I had a small cow with him?

"_Beef"_

I know this is a hallucination as Tony's voice corrects my misused idiom. Yet I take a small bit of solace in the familiarity of it. The voice I have been listening to for the past four years. The voice that told stupid jokes and the voice that elongated my name in an annoying yet endearing manner. The voice that I could not stand to listen to less than three days ago. Or I think it has been three days. It is hard to keep track of time.

I know I should be angry with Tony. I know I should hate him. Whether or not he deserves to be hated, I suppose I will never know.

But he killed Michael.

Michael was a charmer, similar to Tony. Smart, sophisticated, virile… Not to mention undeniably handsome. It would not have been hard to fall in love. It would have been much easier if I were not around Tony every day.

But Michael made me happy. And Tony makes me angry. Tony makes me frustrated. Tony makes me smile.

Occasionally.

But that is what is so wrong with him. He is so incorrigible… so obstinate… so similar to me.

I sigh as I take another look around the room. It is getting lighter – daybreak. A shame, as it means my captor will probably be back soon.

I do not know what will happen to me. Realistically speaking, I will probably die here. I mean, who is going to come looking for me? Michael is dead, NCIS is rid of me, my father would consider this to be too large a liability…

What am I to do?

The realization gives me an odd feeling of happiness; something that I have been desperately lacking in this colorless chamber.

None of the mistakes I have made matter anymore. Everything I have ever done… immaterial. I suppose there is something inherently wrong with feeling happy about that.

Though really, it is the same idea of contentment that older people get. The acceptance of impending death. The inevitable.

"_Nothing is inevitable"_

This time it is my own voice that fills my head. I stand by my statement, with the exception, of course, of death.

We all will die. Some of us sooner than others.

It is of some solace that I know I will at least die happy.

Or happy-ish. Perhaps that is good enough.

-=-

**--==--**

**Yeah, thanks for reading. And I will preemptively thank you for reviewing too ******


	2. 2: From Where You Are

**Disclaimer: I own NCIS. Oh wait… that other thing.**

**a/n: Thank you all so much for the tremendous reviews! Every one that I read made me incredibly happy, which is unfortunate seeing as I have to be sad in order to write this fic.**

**Things will continue to move slowly until the end of this chapter. But then we'll actually get to a plot. Yay.**

**Tony's POV:**

**--==--**

-=-

It's been said that whisky means "water of life." Seeing as this is my fourth glass, I feel I'm qualified enough to disagree.

I know alcohol is a depressant. I do. I knew that coming here wouldn't help anything. I really did.

But there's just something so satisfying about that sting as the liquid trickles down your throat. And after four glasses, even the stomach churning nausea is an odd comfort.

It's bad for me. I know that. Bad for my liver… bad for my head. But it helps me forget. It helps me move on. I don't see Ziva's face as she leans over me. I don't feel the gun barrel pressed hard over my heart. I don't see her eyes, shining with un-spilt tears, shooting daggers at me.

Maybe I do.

Maybe I need more whisky.

I take a long sip as I absentmindedly rub the spot on my chest. There had been a small bruise there after the incident. It's gone now though.

Well, on the surface at any rate.

I take another draw of the single malt whisky; Gibbs would be proud of my choice in liquors I'm sure. I mean, it might not be bourbon, but it's close enough.

"Hey," my head shoots up as Stevethe bartender grabs my now empty glass from the counter. I look around the previously crowded bar before returning my attention to the man handing me back my credit card. "We're closing up."

I give a short nod before getting up from my seat. Or trying. It's more of a stumble than a walk, but I make it a couple feet before I have to lean against the wall.

"You okay?" I hear Steve ask. His name isn't actually Steve. I made it up. He looks like a Steve though.

"Got up too fast. Head rush." I follow my lie with a silent burp. Whisky is just as bad up as it is down.

"You aren't driving are you?"

"I have my license." His face contorts and he opens his mouth to no doubt reprimand me before I finish. "But I'm walking. I live down the block."

He gives me a disbelieving look before nodding.

Another lie. I don't live down the block. I live down a couple blocks. Maybe a dozen. Or something. I don't know, it's hard to think. And I don't want to think. That's why I came here in the first place.

Thinking means remembering. Thinking means regretting.

I begin my long walk, visibly drunk and staggering down the side walk of the empty Silver Springs streets.

It's all my fault really. As soon as her address popped up on the screen I made a choice. I wanted to see her. More importantly, I wanted to see that Rivkin was gone

I could've called Ziva. I could've questioned her on the phone. I didn't have to go to her apartment. I didn't have to see Rivkin's smug face, saying all the wrong things, getting under my skin.

And god help me I was jealous.

The thought of him kissing her… touching her… Ziva. My Ziva.

I feel bile rise up in my stomach, whether it be from the jealousy or the whisky I don't know.

But it doesn't matter now. Because Ziva isn't here. She's in Tel-Aviv. Probably working with Mossad, driving all those stylish black Mercedes. Maybe she's found someone else, someone new.

The wave of nausea that hits me is too strong this time, and I have to pause, my one good arm propping me up against a wall.

How long have I been walking? I look around the unfamiliar territory only to realize I've passed my apartment building.

"Figures" I mutter angrily, as I turn around and head unsteadily back.

I don't want to think about Ziva. It's been what? Half a week now? She's gone. She's not coming back. The end.

I press the call button for the elevator with a little too much force.

I suppose it's not that easy. She was my partner after all. Four years we worked together. Shared our lives together.

I miss her. I miss her mispronounced English, misplaced idioms… I miss her flirting and teasing. I miss seeing her face.

I would even take the wrath of Ziva right now if it meant I got to see her again.

I'm slumped up against the wall of the elevator and I don't know how I got here. I don't know the rate at which time is moving, and quite frankly I don't care.

It's only been three days, and there's been no indication it's going to get any easier. How can I possibly deal with being separated from her? Forever. Half a world away.

Damn it I miss her.

And it's all my flippin' fault.

A loud ringing sound breaks my self-pitying silence. Oh. It's my phone.

It takes more effort then it should to pull it out of my suit pocket but I do. Gibbs. Great. We probably have a case and I'm drunk of my ass.

"What?" I ask. My voice is far more hoarse then I anticipated – have I been crying? DiNozzo men don't cry…

"DiNozzo," Gibbs starts. His voice is hoarse too. Something's wrong.

"What's going on?" I push myself up into a more dignified sitting position.

"Vance called. Ziva…" My heart falters with his sentence. "Ziva's been captured."

My stomach clenches. I want to respond, but I'm afraid to open my mouth, as I know that it wouldn't be words coming out of it.

"No one knows where she is. She's been gone for over forty eight now," Gibbs is talking but I'm not processing. "I've asked Vance to get a search party of Marines… Doesn't look like it's going to happen,"

Gibbs usual calm tone develops an icy feel as he continues.

"Says she's not our problem, and it's up to Director Eli David."

I want to punch Vance in the face.

"And what do you say?" My voice is shaking. If there were ever a thing to sober me up…

"I say we're on the next flight to Israel."

-=-

**--==--**

**Yay for plots.**

**Hope you liked it, and if you did, please review.**

**Just click a button, write a sentence. Doesn't even have to be grammatically correct. I'd love to know what you think.**


	3. 3: Fall Away

**Disclaimer: I own a computer with Microsoft Word and a television with Tivo. Not NCIS.**

**a/n: Once again, thank you for the reviews. You're all so lovely, and very grammatically inclined. I tend to write nonsensical sentences when I review. I'm glad you guys put in the effort.**

**Ziva's POV:**

**--==--**

-=-

I hear tapping. Still. I think it is getting louder, though I cannot be sure.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

It is going to drive me insane.

Which is a shame, because I was so content with myself only minutes ago. So apathetic to my surroundings.

And now… tap. Tap. Tap.

Did someone leave the sink on?

Where are my captors? It has been a while since my last beating. The pain is almost like relief to me now. To feel that I am paying penance to those I have hurt or wronged.

Mostly NCIS.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I have done a lot of wrong in my life. I have lied, deceived, betrayed… Even those closest to me. I truly am a terrible person.

It is odd that this is the way I will die. I have run away from so many things in my life, it seems anticlimactic for them to never catch up with me. I had always thought I would end up as a victim of avengement. I have killed many people in my time. It would be unwise to assume no one would want retribution.

But here I am.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I hate tapping.

I never liked tap dancing. Always ballet. Perhaps that is why this infernal noise is driving me up the wall. Got that one right, Tony.

I was very good at ballet. It is probably why I am so good at fighting. One might think that something so graceful could never translate into something so violent… but they would be incorrect. They use a lot of the same muscles, and require incredible precision.

Maybe that is why my father signed me up for those classes. To train me.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

My family is a whole other issue. I used to love them. I used to be very close. To my father, to my mother, to Ari, and of course to Tali.

It did not take long for me to realize my father's true colors: white and blue. His family was Israel. His job was Israel. His life was Israel.

I suppose it still is.

My mother died far too young. Fortunately it was of an illness, and not some Hamas bombing.

_Fortunately it was of an illness_. Most people would be disgusted with me for saying that, but it is true. A death that is not at the hands of another is a happy death.

Then Tali. My heart still aches when I think of her.

My stomach tightens as I spot the gold chain and star pendant laying only feet away from me, next to a few cigarettes.

That necklace is my constant reminder of her. We were given matching ones for Chanukah one year. I have not taken it off since her passing.

An odd sense of loneliness washes over me as I stare at the jewelry and my neck feels empty.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

And voices. Great. Now I'm hearing voices too. Perhaps this is all just a giant hallucination. My ears have deceived me before.

I jump as a large crash rattles the walls.

There is no more tapping, and I am left with an eerie silence.

Then voices. Getting louder. Coming closer. Footsteps.

The door swings open, and I have never been so happy to see three loaded assault weapons pointed straight at me.

"Ziva David?" I hear one of them ask as their rifles lower. I nod, unable to formulate any words.

Two of them rush over to me as the third begins to talk into a black box on his shoulder.

Why is there a black box on his shoulder? Walker-talker. Got it.

My eyes are closing as the men untie my bonds.

Remain conscious damn it!

"Necklace" I croak out as one of the men starts to pick me up.

"What?" He asks. Deep voice. Rugged. Sexy. Similar to Tony's.

"Stevens, the necklace." The other man says and I have just enough strength to watch him pick up my gold chain before exhaustion overtakes me and all is black.

-=-

**--==--**

**Yuppers. That's it for this chapter. I know it's a little short, but quite frankly… it was the prudent place to end.**

**I'm going to pose a question to you (which is a blatant, unabashed way to hear your reviews at the same time). What is your second favorite television show? If your favorite is not NCIS, then what grabs the coveted number one on your list?**

**Leave a review. I'm honestly interested in your answers. I also honestly want to hear what you think. =]**


	4. 4: 3 AM

**Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS. NCIS owns me.**

**a/n: Thanks again for all the reviews. Such a colorful assortment of different TV shows… For the record, I'd say my favorites would have to be "The Office" and "Psych." Two shows very (VERY) different from NCIS.**

**Tony's POV:**

**--==--**

-=-

I take another glance at my watch as the engines blare around me. 3 AM. The epitome of a "red-eye."

Vance booked us two business class seats on the first El Al flight out of DC. For someone so keen on not getting Ziva back, he certainly seems keen on getting Ziva back.

Gibbs didn't question him so I didn't question him. Just threw some underwear and a toothbrush in a bag before heading to Dulles.

And now here I am. 3 A.M. and preparing for take off. Seatback is up, tray-table locked…

Not exactly how I expected to be spending my night. Morning. Whatever.

I don't feel as tired as I know I should. I can't feel the alcohol anymore. Not since Gibbs called.

No to say I don't feel things. Because I feel a lot of things. Too many things.

Anxious, worried, sad, scared, hurt…

I look at Gibbs; composure incarnate. I know he's feeling the same emotions I am. I know he's freaking the flip out on the inside. I know he has the same burning, insatiable urge to take a few shots at Mossad's director too.

But god help him he's stolid.

It's a little reassuring to be honest. Gibbs won't back down, Gibbs won't stop until Ziva is safely in our custody. Screw Mossad. She's our damn agent; Gibbs knows it as well as I do.

DiNozzo's rule number one: Never sit on the sidelines when one of our own is in danger.

And Ziva is one of our own.

I check the time again. Still 3 A.M. 3 A.M. in DC at any rate. In Israel… what? 10?

We probably won't get there till 9 P.M. Who knows what Ziva's situation is going to be then? Who knows what Ziva's situation is now?

"_Ziva's been captured"_ Gibbs's words ring through my head.

Captured. Captured by whom? Hamas? The terrorist cell Rivkin had been working on?

I don't like ambiguity. In fact, I dislike it. Strongly.

"Boss." I say unsteadily. His head barley moves but it's enough to indicate I've got his attention.

Unfortunately I have nothing to say.

_We're going to find her, right?_ He can't answer that. And I don't want to hear his indefinite response.

_Why did you leave her in Israel, to be at the mercy of her father?_ A question I've been dying to ask. To ask it would mean dying however, as Gibbs wouldn't take too kindly to my authority questioning.

"What, Tony?" How long had I been postulating?

"We're going to be bringing her back to NCIS, right?" I ask.

"If she wants to come back."

"What if she doesn't? What if… I mean. She didn't want to be on the same team as me… I can transfer boss. I just-" I'm unable to extemporize any further.

"Want her to be home?" He finishes it well.

"Yeah."

We fall into a comfortable silence.

"What if she doesn't want to see me?"

"DiNozzo"

"No I'm serious. What if she won't come back because I'm with you?"

"Tony. I know you like to think you're important, but she has bigger issues at the moment."

"So she won't be upset?"

"I don't now DiNozzo. How old are you?"

I'm waiting for the head slap as he turns to look me full in the face now. It's a little intimidating.

"Tony. I don't know how she feels about you at the moment. I don't know what kind of condition she's in right now. What I do know is that she trusts you, whether she denies it or not. And even if she doesn't want to see you, it's not going to effect her decision about NCIS."

"Wow, Gibbs, that's the longest you've ever spoken without stopping."

"Dinozzo, shut up and get some sleep. You're going to need it."

-=-

**--==--**

**I know. It's another short one. But it's necessary! Trust me.**

**In other news, I've officially got the rest of the story planned out. 11 chapters, no epilogue. Get ready. It's going to be intense.**

**Unfortunately I haven't actually got all the chapters complete yet… so you know… I might need some external incentive… hint hint…**


	5. 5: A Murder of One

**Disclaimer: It is with great sadness to state that I don't own NCIS. I think I'll get over it.**

**a/n: Okay, I'm sorry. The last chapter was exceptionally short. So was the one before that. I only got a couple reviews for the chapter and it kinda inspired me to post this sooner than I usually would. I felt bad.**

**That being said, fewer reviews don't generally correlate with faster updates. Only in this one instance.**

**But I'm now updating with a twofer: a long(er) chapter that moves the plot forward. Yay.**

**Ziva's POV:**

**--==--**

-=-

The first thing I am aware of is light. Then earth shattering pain.

I let out a small cry, unable to hide the hurt. Instantly an unfamiliar man runs in and the accustomed fear is not long to follow.

"Miss David?"

The memories rush back to me and I relax as I recall him to be one of my rescuers. I look around the room before responding. It is a very white room, perhaps an infirmary. I am lying on a bed without blankets and only a light hospital gown to keep me warm.

"Yes" I try to prop myself up while my muscles and bones scream in protest

He gives me a small smile before immediately looking at his feet. "Are you alright?"

"I am fine." I respond as I watch a deep blush creep up his cheeks. "What is it?"

He coughs. "Uh, well. Your… Your gown fell down ma'am." He makes eye contact for a brief second before quickly returning his gaze to the linoleum flooring.

It is my turn to blush as I attempt to pull up at the neck of gown, only to fall unceremoniously back on the bed.

Ouch.

"Um. Do you need any help?" He asks. I am refusing to look at him out of embarrassment and the timidity is his voice suggests he is doing the same.

"I am fine," I manage to reply as I struggle with the ties of my gown.

"I won't look. I just want to help." He is looking at me again now, probably because the gown is at least sufficiently covering my breasts.

I concede defeat, realizing that my broken limbs are doing me no favors. I nod slightly and he takes his queue.

His steps are light as he walks hesitantly over to me and I find it to be oddly cute. Cute. Ziva David does not think things are cute.

His fingers are cool and they send a shiver through my body as he grazes my neck to reach the ties.

"How are you feeling?"

"I am fine." I reiterate.

"Good. I'm glad. You weren't fine when we found you, that's for sure." He gives a shaky laugh.

I am not amused.

He can tell.

"I mean. You were in bad shape. Those guys did quite a number on you."

I turn my head away from him as he walks to the side of the bed. Those are not memories I wish to relive now, particularly in front of a stranger.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

I turn my head back to glare at him sharply.

"Got it. You're fine." He adds a nervous smile at the end and my anger dissipates.

"Where am I?" I ask. It feels like a prudent question, no matter how blunt.

"Oh. Right. Of course. You're in Mombassa, Kenya at a temporary US naval base."

Last time I had some grasp on my surroundings I had been on the Egyptian border of Sudan. How did I wind up in Kenya?

The man, who probably has a name, continues. "We found you in Somalia and brought you here. It's not American soil, but it's stable at any rate."

He has an odd accent. American, for sure. It sounds like a mix of Southern and Atlantic. It is pleasant.

"When you're healthy again we'll bring you back to the states though."

"What?" I interrupt rudely.

"Orders came from the Secretary of the Navy himself."

"I am not under the Navy's jurisdiction."

He looks genuinely confused, and his scrunched up face reminds me of Tony's.

"You're NCIS, I thought."

"I was NCIS. Sort of. Liaison officer from Mossad."

"Oh. I thought it was odd that a covert operation like that would've been handled by NCIS. Normally we're in charge of those things." At my questioning look he continues. "Navy SEALS, I mean. By the way I'm Stevens. Philip Stevens."

Tony would've made a James Bond comment.

"It's nice to might you _Stevens._" I mock gently.

"Call me Philip. I'll probably be with you in here a lot."

I raise my eyebrow. Or I try. The muscles in my face are not particularly responsive at the moment.

"I mean, I was assigned to watch over you. Before we leave. Make sure you're okay and what not. If it makes you uncomfortable I don't have to be here-"

"It is fine." I place my hand lightly on his arm, in an attempt to be reassuring. "Do you put your shoe in your mouth often?"

"Shoe…? Oh, you mean foot. And yes. I do."

He does not take as much enjoyment correcting my idioms as Tony does. Tony's eyes sparkle and his lips turn up slightly anytime I make the smallest mistake. Philip Stevens just looked confused.

"I need to contact Mossad." I blurt it out just as I come to the realization. I should have reported back on the mission days ago.

"I'll have to talk to Corporal…" He starts as he takes a slow step away from me. "If there is anything else you need?"

"No." He seems temporarily put off by my brusque comment and I feel bad. "But, thank you." I add a smile for extra emphasis and he returns it before exiting the room.

Too many things to process. Were Mossad aware of my predicament? Why did SecNav order the SEALs to save me? How did they even know where to find me?

I sigh, and rest my head back on the stiff pillow.

Why did Mossad not find me first? Why did my father not search for me?

I already know the answer, but it hurts to admit it.

I was a risk. The mission had been completed without any casualties. Why burden his men with a probable lost cause?

_Because you are his daughter._

The words sting more than any of my myriad injuries.

_Gibbs would have never done this to me._

The notion makes me sick. How could I have left Gibbs for my father? What had I been thinking?

The time I spent working with NCIS should have opened my eyes to the ridiculous conditions of which my father expects me to comply with. I should have rejected his pleas for my Aliyah. I should have dropped the liaison title and become a full time NCIS agent.

Philip is in the doorway again. "Hey, Ziva. I mean, Ms. David-"

"Ziva is fine."

"Right. Well corporal says you can't contact Mossad until we're back in DC. And I'm really sorry, it's just… I'm sure you know that we have to follow orders. Particularly when they're from the Secretary."

"Do not worry about." I say it and I genuinely mean it. So what if I do not contact Mossad? Perhaps it is better if they believe me to be dead for the time being.

Perhaps I won't even contact them when I arrive back in the United States.

"Oh and Ziva" I return my attention back to Philip who is now awkwardly digging around his pockets as he walks closer.

I give a questioning look as he pulls out a chain. A very familiar gold chain with a very familiar gold star.

I thought I had lost it. My last connection to Tali.

"You might want this, yes?"

"Thank you." I say. My eyes are watering.

I will not cry.

"Would you like me to put it on?" He asks softly. I nod, as I hold back tears.

The metal is cool around my neck and I suddenly feel at home.

"Thank you." I say again as he secures it and takes a step backward.

He probably thinks I am ridiculous, crying over such a small piece of jewelry. As if reading me mind he says, "Sometimes even the smallest things are the most important."

I nod and he gives me a warm smile before leaving me to my thoughts.

-=-

**--==--**

**See, it was longer! About twice as long as the previous chapter. Anywho, I hope you enjoyed it.**

**I would appreciate reviews though. I might be able to keep this updating pace if I'm inspired…**


	6. 6: A Bad Dream

**Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with NCIS. So stop pestering me.**

**a/n: Thank you all so much for the reviews! This one has a POV switch in the middle. I tried to make it fairly obvious, so hopefully it won't cause too many issues.**

**Also, it's really long =]**

**Tony's POV:**

**--==--**

-=-

The bell tolls and there's a tremendous un-clicking of seatbelts around me. I'm the first to stand up and open the overhead compartment. 12 hours is long enough to wait on the sidelines. I can't wait any longer. Ziva can't wait any longer.

Gibbs patiently follows me as I run as far up the aisle as I can, flashing my badge to whoever cares. Mostly flight attends who repeatedly tell me I can't get off yet. I end up stuck right in front of the door, tapping my foot angrily as I wait.

"Excuse me sir," I hear one of them say. I turn around and give them my best Gibbs glare as I hold up my badge.

"Government business." I reply coldly, eyes piercing into hers. She gives a fake smile behind her clearly exasperated demeanor.

"I need you to move so I can open the door. Then you can go on with your – government business."

I take a small step back, angry gaze still upon her.

I think she's going slowly on purpose.

After what seems like the length of the flight the door finally swings open and I'm soon to follow, jumping onto the rubber floor of the jetway.

"Sir, you have to…" her voice is fading as I run down the hall. I hope Gibbs is following me, but I don't really care.

My bag is slowing me down, and my shoulder aches as I step into the terminal. But I'm determined to move… determined to… do… something.

Apparently I lack proper foresight.

What exactly am I supposed to do now?

I turn around and wait impatiently for Gibbs, hoping he has an idea, when I hear a voice.

"Special Agent DiNozzo."

I turn back around to find myself face to face with… Hadar, was it? Some Mossad Officer.

I'm not particularly pleased to see him.

"That's me." I reply coldly.

"Mossad Officer Amit Hadar. We have met before."

"I remember."

"It was not too long ago, was it?"

"Certainly not long enough. Why are you here?"

"Where is Special Agent Gibbs?"

"Why does that matter?"

"I was told to pick both of you up." He states matter of factly, as if I should've known it all along.

In fairness, Vance never told us what to do when we got to Tel Aviv. And he had 12 flipping hours to make arrangements. 12 flipping hours that I spent watching, and then re-watching, some crappy chick flick called _20 Million Dresses_.

Or something.

Suffice to say my mind was somewhere else.

"Ah, Special Agent Gibbs" Hadar talks over my shoulder and I snap out of my headspace.

"Officer Hadar." Gibbs's glare seriously is a thing of legend. Hadar visibly stiffens and I attempt to hold in my laugh.

"I was just about to tell Agent DiNozzo about our plans."

"Plans?"

"Yes. You are to see Director David."

"Great." I say, making a point to look around the nearly empty airport. "Is he in the men's room?"

"He is at his home. Where I am to take you."

"To his home?" I ask bluntly. "Not Mossad?"

"One might say that Mossad is his home, but yes, I am taking you to his house just north of Tel Aviv."

"Seems informal." Gibbs states.

"I agree." I agree.

"He has not been into work for the last few days… perhaps it is better if he has this discussion with you."

My stomach sinks at his hidden implication, but I nod and we follow him out through security.

-=-

This can't possibly be the house Ziva grew up in. Her descriptions insinuated somewhere more quaint… not this massive mansion.

I suppose I haven't really heard too much about her youth. I'll have to ask her more about it when we find her.

I open the door and slowly hop out of the car, beginning to feel the effects of 24 – probably more – hours without sleep.

Director David is waiting on the front steps as Hadar drives off in the stylish Mercedes – we really should get those for NCIS.

"Special Agent Gibbs, Special Agent DiNozzo." He greets somberly, inviting us inside.

Gibbs is first in as I try to take one last look at the expansive house before following suit.

"I wish to be seeing you under better terms." He talks back to us, leading us into some sort of study. I see a picture of a young Ziva sitting on his desk. No – not Ziva. Tali?

Her necklace is familiar and realize again how much I miss Ziva.

"I am afraid that your traveling has been in vain."

"Why's that?" Gibbs's voice is icy.

"Ziva," he starts before taking a dramatic pause. "Ziva has been captured by a terrorist group on the east coast of Africa."

My heart stops.

"She was finishing Officer Rivkin's job when we lost contact. That was well over 4 days ago."

"Where were the Officers working with her?" Gibbs growls. I would've asked that if my body still worked.

"She was working on it alone." He replies.

"And why the hell was she doing that?"

"Agent Gibbs, this is my agency. It is how we operate."

"Operate better."

"I assure you, this was necessary for her safety."

"Safety? Then why the hell is she with some terrorists right now?"

"Some missions will end up compromised. It is the nature of what we do."

I'm silent.

"She's your daughter! You'd send your daughter – your only daughter - on a mission severely jeopardizing her safety?"

"I cannot give any Mossad Officer preferential treatment, daughter or not."

"Where the hell is she?" Gibbs asks. More like yells.

The director is quiet as he pulls out a picture from the top drawer of his desk.

"Dead."

I feel numb.

Gibbs snatches the picture out of David's hands before slowly collapsing into a chair.

I don't want to look. I can't look.

I need to look.

I'm going to vomit.

It's Ziva. On the floor. Bloody. Bruised.

Broken.

Dead.

I'm going to vomit.

-=-

**-=-**

-=-

The doctor gives me a small smile as he leaves, though it does not alleviate any of the pain he has just inflicted upon me. Morphine might.

I know that it is important to treat my wounds and make sure they do not get infected but there really should be a more pain free way to do it.

"How you feeling?" A familiar voice fills the room and I allow myself a small smile.

"How many times will you ask me that before you learn?"

"Oh, I've learned, but I'm still going to ask you."

I raise my eyebrow as he saunters over to the chair he long ago placed next to my bed.

"And I still expect an answer, even if it is the same one every time."

"I am fine."

"Well finally the doctor agrees with you. You're being shipped out tomorrow morning." He says it with a smile, but I can tell it is fake. Philip is not hard to read

"What is wrong?"

"Nothing. You're going home. Why would it be wrong?"

"You look sad."

He opens his mouth to respond before closing it again.

At least he has started thinking before speaking.

"I mean, you've been here for over a while now… I've… grown accustomed to your face I suppose."

"_My Fair Lady_?" Tony made me watch it, and I will never admit how much I liked it. To Tony, at any rate.

"It's my sister's favorite movie."

"We will keep in touch." I say, reaching out to grab his hand. He gives it a light squeeze.

"I wish I could go back with you. You'll be lonely on the flight."

"With the drugs they will be giving me, I will probably be asleep the entire way."

He gives me a sad smile, and releases my hand though only to brush stray hair out of my face.

I do not want to have feelings for him. I do not want to have feelings for anyone. Feelings are what got me here in the first place.

But his touch is light, and his smile is real, and my heart flutters involuntarily.

"Why does this remind me of some bad romance flick?" I ask.

"We were just talking about _My Fair Lady_."

"That was not a bad romance flick."

"I was trying to change the topic."

"Very ineffective way of doing so."

His eyes gaze into my own. They are very pretty. Deep blue. Not the color of Gibbs's, and thank goodness they are not green like Tony's. I have enough trouble not thinking about him as it is.

And I am thinking about him again.

"I'm sorry we didn't get to take this anywhere." He says finally.

"Me too."

We sit in a sad silence as his hand finds my own yet again. The room is darker than usual, and I know there will be no more visitors till morning. Though I have never left the infirmary, I know it is a long bit away from the rest of camp; Philip has complained about the walk many times.

"Why can't we?" I say after a few moments.

"I'm sorry?"

"I am not talking about… a relationship. But why can't we have, well, relations?"

"You're joking right?" He is trying to hide the eagerness in his voice. He is not doing a good job.

"No one can hear us. Perhaps it would give us both some solace."

"You're incredibly injured. Do you know how painful this could be for you?"

"I have a morphine drip by my bedside. I will be okay."

"This is a joke right?"

I do not know why I am doing this. I should not be doing this. But I need someone, some form of closeness. And I know no one else who could provide it.

Moreover who else I would want to provide it.

"Uh.. I… don't have any… protection." The last word is a whisper and I wonder if he is actually as old as he claims to be.

He is just nervous. I am surprisingly nervous too.

"Philip." I say it softly and we share a lustful gaze.

In a second his face is over mine and our lips are connected. It is soft, it is passionate, and it feels right. Not _right_ but definitely right; a distinction that makes all the difference.

-=-

I sleep easily as he leaves me with a gentle kiss. It was surprisingly good, and I took comfort in the feel of another human. The shared, intimate experience of another human.

When I wake up he is there. I tell him I will miss him, and he tells me he will call me when he gets back to the states. Phone numbers and emails are exchanged and I give him a light kiss on his cheek before being moved to the aircraft.

I did not think of Tony, nor did I shout out his name in the throws of passion. But after we had finished the previous night we shared a caring glance, and his eyes looked green.

-=-

**--==--**

**I know I'll probably receive some heat for hooking Ziva up with some random Marine, but she needed some lovin'.**

**And you really should be happy with me, because this chapter was like…2000 words long.**

**Crazy.**

**In other news, review please. =]**

**(I'm disgusted with myself for the amount of emoticons I've put in author's notes (I'm now disgusted with myself for using the word "emoticon"))**


	7. 7: A Murder of One

**Disclaimer: I'm pretty sure I don't own NCIS. I can't be certain, but if I had to guess, I'd say NCIS is **_**not**_** mine.**

**a/n: Let me start off by saying that there won't be a Ziva pregnancy.**

**There were a lot of people who were rather upset by Ziva's actions in the last chapter. I'm sorry if it offended you, but I felt it was in character. If you'd like me to give a more in depth explanation, please PM me and I'd be more than happy to clarify.**

**That being said, I do appreciate all reviews, criticism or not.**

**Tony's POV:**

**--==--**

-=-

Gibbs is silent. I am silent. Director David is silent.

Gibbs isn't crying. I'm not crying. Director David is wiping tears off his cheeks as he sits down at his chair.

The picture was photo shopped. It's the only logical explanation.

Ziva is not… Ziva cannot be… Ziva would never let that happen to her.

I close my eyes and I see her. Prostrate on the floor, face bloody and swollen. Almost unrecognizable.

But it was Ziva. Deep down I know it. And it sickens me.

I take a deep breath. I need something to distract me. Anything.

This chair is really comfortable. I should get this for my apartment. Probably costs more then my apartment actually.

I look over at Gibbs. He's sitting in the same kind of chair. Does Eli really need both? Surely he can spare one for his daughter's friend.

His daughter. Ziva.

My tangent is ended with a force. So much for trying to ignore the problem.

I take a shaky breath that sounds twenty times louder in the noiseless room.

Ziva is not dead. And this isn't just my denial talking. I just… I know she's not dead.

My gut might not be as reliable as Gibbs's, but it doesn't seem right. Something is definitely feeling wrong.

It's probably because I want to throw up.

Maybe it is just my denial talking.

"We need to find her." Gibbs says. His voice is low and packed with fury.

"I do not know how we could do that." Director David says softly, hanging his head.

"We'll look for her. We'll find her." I say. My voice is hoarse and surprisingly quiet.

"She is dead, Agent DiNozzo." His tone is biting. "Of what use would it be?"

"She's not dead, damn it." Gibbs words are eerily similar to the ones I was about to say. It sounds foolish out loud.

"You saw the picture. Would you like me to show you the note too? Of course, as it is in Arabic, it would not be a great help to you. She is dead, Agent Gibbs. We must accept it."

"What did the note say?" Gibbs asks, voice fierce.

"That they killed my Mossad Officer. And if I kept trying to break them, they would kill more."

"They're bluffing." I say.

"Tell me, Special Agent DiNozzo, how many times have you dealt directly with terrorist cells?"

"I've dealt with them before."

"I said directly, Agent DiNozzo. You have dealt with the pawns, the ones who are sent to do the dirty work. You arrest them, case is over. I deal with the politics. I deal with the leaders. I know how they operate. You do not."

"How can we know she's dead? Where is the proof?" I ask. Gibbs has become mysteriously quiet.

"I have made many mistakes in my time as Director. Waiting for proof is one of them. If they tell me my officer is dead, it is best that I believe them."

"Well I'm not the damn director, so you tell me where I can find her!" I'm yelling at him without hesitance. In retrospect, angering the head of an organization specializing in assassinations probably isn't the best idea, but if it means finding Ziva then I'll do it without blinking.

Director David sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "The last time we had contact, she was in Egypt, moving south to Sudan. After that… I do not know."

"How can we get there?"

"Agent DiNozzo, she will not be there anymore. They would have moved her before they even took the picture. Possibly a few countries over."

"I don't give a damn. I'm going to retrace their steps then."

"Impossible."

"I'm an investigator. It's what I do."

I meet his steely-eyed stare. Under normal circumstances, I'm sure I wouldn't have won. But his daughter is dead. No, not dead. Missing. And perhaps he does actually have a soft spot for her.

No matter how small.

He's about to break. He's about to tell me I win… He's about to…

His phone rings loudly and he breaks eye contact to answer it.

Damn it.

"Shalom."

I look over at Gibbs who has his head in his hands. I can practically see the gears turning in his mind, trying to get us a way to find her.

"Leon, I am meeting with them now." My attention shoots back to Ziva's father. "So soon? May I ask why?"

I'm unabashedly eavesdropping now. So is Gibbs.

"I thought you were your own boss?" He says this with a small smirk. "Of course. Would you like me to arrange transportation? Perhaps you would like to talk to him?" The phone is handed over to Gibbs, who takes it forcefully.

"Yeah, Gibbs." I send a questioning look his way, which he averts skillfully. "And why exactly would we do that? I don't give a damn about my job. I want Ziva."

There's a long pause now, and I think Gibbs has just gotten us fired.

"I see. Can you tell me anything else? We'll get our stuff." He hands the phone back to Director David, signaling for him to hang up.

"Boss, what's going on?" I ask, standing up as he begins to exit the room.

"Oh, we're heading back to Washington."

I turn to look at Director David, who nods, and signals for me to exit before him.

"You're kidding right? We just got back here. Why the hell would we leave again?"

"SecNav's orders," I hear Gibbs say from ahead of me. He sounds cheery about this. Why is he cheery about this?

"But… Boss, Ziva…?" I'm getting angry now. What the hell had Vance said? What about Ziva? What the frick?

"Tony." His voice is calm and it's really freaking me out. "SecNav's orders." He repeats the phrase and it doesn't make any more sense now than it did a second ago.

"But-"

"I'll explain later. Shalom, Director David. If you get any updates on Ziva, please tell us immediately."

"But of course," he replies sadly as he opens the front door for us. I see Hadar has pulled up in the same Mercedes, which probably still contains our bags. "Shalom."

"Uh, Shalom?" I say angrily, as I watch Gibbs walk over the car so nonchalantly.

What the hell is going on?

I walk over to him as he waits outside the car, clearly wanting a word.

"Boss-" He holds a hand up stopping me, before moving closer to my ear.

"Vance doesn't want Director David to know… Ziva's been found, Tony." His voice is quiet but the message is loud, and it takes all my strength not to collapse next to the car.

-=-

**--==--**

**For those of you observant enough to note the chapter titles, you probably realize that I've used this title before.**

**I'm going with circuitry. You'll see.**

**Anywho, I don't think there's anything particularly controversial in the chapter, but if you have an issue, then have at it.**

**For the rest of you, just a simple review will suffice.**


	8. 8: 3 AM

**Disclaimer: See page 1**

**a/n: For those of you who inquired (i.e. one of you) the titles are based of songs that marginally correlate with the chapter. Note: these are not song fics. I hate song fics. With a fiery passion.**

**But enough about chapter titles. Moving on to the next installment:**

**Ziva's POV:**

**--==--**

-=-

The flight was not altogether unpleasant. I spent the first half in a drug induced slumber, before being awoken to test my ability to move. It had been a while since I last walked, but it did not take long to support myself, even on the turbulent military jet.

I was quickly briefed on what I was to expect when I left the plane. An NCIS agent would be sent to pick me up, where I would be taken to the Navy Yard. There, I would be put under protective custody for twenty-four hours, as Mossad and NCIS decided on the correct course of action. Something that I apparently have no say in.

The plane lands roughly, though I am prepared for it. I let go of the cargo netting as I feel the jet start to slow down.

Is it so wrong to hope that Tony will be the NCIS agent coming to pick me up, and the one assigned to protect me?

I should still be mad at him, and I am, to a certain extent. But we really do need to talk. I cannot hate him forever, and the sooner we come to an understanding, the better. The sooner he tells me the truth, the better.

The sooner he tells me he was jealous the better. Because that is all I need to hear.

Because I know he was. Everyone knows he was. And the fact that he cannot admit it is the underlying problem with our relationship.

The inability to admit our feelings.

Neither of us have done it. We both know they exist, and we both know that a single moment, a single word could change the dynamic between us forever.

And yet something holds us back. Perhaps it is Gibbs and his rule twelve. Perhaps it is Vance, and the constant threat of a transfer.

Or perhaps it is our own fear, that this might be a relationship we cannot mess up. A work relationship we cannot mess up – we are partners, and romantic feelings could conflict with out ability to perform our duties.

It is also the case that if we were to have a relationship – an actual romantic relationship – to mess that would be unfathomable. It would be losing an integral part of our lives forever.

Perhaps it is best if Tony does not pick me up.

I reason this as the door lowers, revealing the long awaited sight of America, and McGee, getting out of the NCIS car he just pulled up in.

I ignore the offers for help as I shakily get up from my seat and walk out, carefully descending the small slope.

"Ziva…" his voice is low and I know he is looking at my various bruises. I hide them behind a facade of confidence, and send him a large smile. Or I think it is a smile.

"McGee," I say, and I find myself on the brink of tears. Not again…

He senses this and wraps his arms around me in a reassuring hug. I make a small noise of pain and immediately he pulls back.

"I'm so sorry, Ziva! Are you okay?" I'm not sure if the pain was one from one of my myriad injuries, or the fact that McGee could find it prudent to show me such compassion after I had betrayed him and NCIS.

I will not cry.

"Tim, I am fine." I say, wanting him to pull me into another hug. Though I will not tell him that.

"It's good to have you back, Ziva. We missed you."

I want to tell him that I missed him too. I want to tell him that I missed NCIS. I want to tell him that if I never go back to Israel it will be too soon. I want to tell him everything.

But instead I just cry.

He is quick to wrap me in another hug, as I mentally kick myself for being so weak. For needing McGee to hold me. For using Philip to provide me with comfort back in Kenya. And now for wanting to see Tony more than anyone in the world.

The last thought catches me by surprise, and I cannot help but remember his sad, green eyes, searching into mine as I pushed the gun against roughly his chest.

I eventually pull back and McGee ushers me into the car.

We do not talk on the short ride over to NCIS. I do not want to talk. Okay, I do. But I would have nothing to say.

When we arrive, McGee helps me out of the car, and I think the fact that I do not protest scares him.

"You ready?" He asks, as we pass through security.

"Yes. I am. It might be tough to see Gibbs and Tony again… but it will be good." I say, reassuring myself more than anything else.

"Oh, Tony and Gibbs went to Tel Aviv looking for you." He tells me as he presses the call button for the elevator. "But they'll be back soon. And Abby is really excited to see you."

I give a smile that does not come close to my eyes. "I am excited to see her too."

McGee gives me a look as we step through to the elevator. I ignore it.

The ride up is silent, and as soon as the doors open Abby comes at me full speed, squeezing the air out of my lungs with a hug. As soon as she pulls back I hear the intake of breath and her hand immediately shoots to her mouth.

"Oh Ziva…" When even Abby cannot say something positive, I know I must look bad. My hair is greasy and thrown into a (very) messy ponytail. I am wearing some cargo pants and a baggy tee shirt the SEALs in Kenya lent me. Or gave me. I do not have any intention of getting it back to them.

Oh, and my face looks like it has been run over with a truck.

I am drawn into another – softer - hug before I can reply. I know Abby is crying, and I wish she wouldn't. I might start crying again too. Two times in one day… That would be overkill.

"Abby," I say and she immediately pulls back.

"You're never leaving NCIS again," She states, and I wish I could believe her.

McGee coughs, as the elevator doors close around us, and Abby hits the button to open them again.

"Come on Ziva, everyone else wants to welcome you back."

"Well, Tony and Gibbs are not here. Who exactly is _everyone else_?" I ask, stepping out o the elevator and into the squad room.

"Well, okay, not them. But Ducky, and Palmer, and you know… everyone else." She finishes lamely, motioning around the room. I just now notice the agents pausing in their morning rituals. Or afternoon rituals. What time is it?

I smile weakly at all of them, before trying to subtly hide behind Abby. I do not want people to see me in this state.

"Tony and Gibbs get back in like ten hours and I know you want to see them." I look up at her curiously. "Or, maybe you don't. But they really want to see you. I mean, Gibbs practically demanded that Vance send them to Tel Aviv. Well, he did after he found out you were captured. In fairness, I think Vance actually wanted you back too, because he's the one who called Gibbs to tell him. And then booked a flight. Anyway, their flight arrives at three in the morning tomorrow, so expect two more big hugs. Well, more, because I'll probably be hugging you through out the day – I mean, if it's okay with you. I don't want to hurt-"

"Abby." I silence her tangent with a hand on her arm. "You can hug me. Now, where exactly am I supposed to go?"

McGee takes the opportunity to get a word in. "Uh, first you're going to autopsy to let Ducky check you over. Then you'll go up to Vance's office. He's in MTAC right now talking to… well… Mossad. And you're not allowed to go in. Unless they ask for you."

I begin walking to relieve McGee from having to explain more.

McGee and Abby leave me as I enter autopsy and Ducky's familiar face greets me. At least he has the decency not to react to my threadbare appearance.

"It is so good to see you, Ziva." His hug is not nearly as strong as Abby's but it gives as much comfort. "I know you probably don't want me to do this, and if you feel uncomfortable, we can take you to see another doctor, but I do need to do a check up on you."

"It is fine, Ducky. I am sure you have seen worse."

He gives me a sad smile. "It's not the same on people you care about."

-=-

Ducky talks through the entire thing. Fortunately he is not commenting on my swollen joints or discolored skin. Instead he tells me stories of what happened at NCIS when I was gone.

Abby took all the stuff from my desk and stored it in her lab. McGee set his desktop as a picture of the team Abby had once taken. Gibbs refused to let anyone so much as sit in my chair. Tony had started drinking heavily.

I wish Ducky had left out that bit. I do not like Tony when he drinks. He loses his boyish charm.

I am not sad when the examination ends, and I thank the ever-decorous Ducky for being so courteous. I do not know what my body looks like, but based on the pain I can only imagine it is not in the best of shape.

"And Ziva," he starts as I am exiting the room. "Do not be too harsh on Tony when he gets back. I cannot imagine the pain his actions must have inflicted upon you, but I do know the pain they inflicted upon him. He will want to make sure you're okay, and I think you should grant him that privilege."

I nod my head and exit the room, counting down the hours till three a.m.

-=-

**--==--**

**A long chapter for a long wait. I finally finished my other story, which is my lame justification for the lack of updates in this story.**

**Anywho, hoped you enjoyed, and if you did then please review.**


	9. 9: Fall Away

**Disclaimer: I don't really think I need to say it again.**

**a/n: I don't have anything useful to say**

**Tony's POV:**

**--==--**

-=-

I'm flying on the director of an international agency's private jet. If it weren't for the circumstances, this would be the happiest day of my life.

Or maybe it is. Gibbs still hasn't told me anything else about Ziva. Not with Hadar within earshot.

Is she alive? What do the mean "found?" Who found her? Why did Vance send us to Israel if we already had a search party?

I throw my bag on one of the luxurious leather seats before collapsing on another. I need to sleep. I even want to sleep. But first, I need to talk to Gibbs. 12 hours alone on a private jet probably won't find me short in opportunities, but that doesn't stop me from asking him the second the door closes.

"What's going on boss?"

He sighs as he takes his own seat across from me, the exhaustion clearly catching up with him as well.

"I need coffee."

"I'm not going to stop bugging you until you tell me."

"I don't know much, DiNozzo. Apparently SecNav was informed about Ziva, he sent out some SEALs. Then he told Vance, who told us. We got sent here, and Ziva was found just before we left, although we had no way of knowing. Vance said SecNav wants Mossad kept quiet on this till Ziva is back in the states."

"And when exactly is that?"

"Should be right about now," he says, taking a glance at his watch. I don't know how he can rely on time at the moment. It's too complicated for me to even begin to think about, what with all our traveling.

"Do you know anything else?" I ask, secretly hoping he doesn't so I can succumb to sleep.

"How long do you think my conversation with Vance was?" I take that as a no, and allow my eyes to close.

-=-

"Tony," Gibbs shakes me awake with a hand on my good shoulder. "We land in half an hour."

I sit up, stretching my arms – or arm - as I yawn loudly. "I slept the whole flight?"

"Wouldn't know. I certainly did. Pilot just woke me up."

"Right." My mouth tastes awful. "Wouldn't happen to have a breath mint on you by any chance?"

Gibbs gives me a look as he takes a seat across from me.

"Do we have to go through customs on this thing? I know we didn't with the military plane, but I'm not accustomed to flying international on charters."

"I doubt it, Tony."

Silence encompasses us as we both look out the windows into the indiscernible dark.

"Think Ziva's waiting for us?"

"I think she's at NCIS."

"So we'll see her."

"Yeah." Gibbs grimaces, and I'm put off for a moment.

I suppose egocentrism isn't just for kids. Gibbs was the one who'd left Ziva in Israel. He probably felt just as guilty as me. Probably wanted to see Ziva just as bad as me.

"Think she'll want to see us?" I ask, and Gibbs hangs his head.

"I hope so." I hear him mutter.

We spend the rest of the ride in silence. Gibbs stares blankly out the window while ponder the plausible outcome of my reunion with Ziva.

Will she hug me? Will she shoot me? Will she just ignore me? Will she be happy to see me? I want to see her – no – I need to see her. To make sure she's there, and that she's not leaving.

Screw it. Even if she doesn't want to see me, she's going to. Because I'm going to make this right,

If that means sucking up my pride and apologizing, then so be it.

If that means putting my neck out and admitting I was jealous, then I'll do that too.

If that means surrendering to the fact that we will never be in anything more than a platonic relationship… fine.

I just need her back in my life.

-=-

The rest of the flight goes without incident. We land, we depart, we don't go through customs, and McGee picks us up at the front of the airport.

"McGoo. I have never been so happy to see you." I say, enveloping him in a hug that he doesn't return.

"Tony. You smell terrible."

"That's what 24 hours of traveling does to a man, McGee. Course, you wouldn't know that."

"Good to see you too, Tony"

I throw my bag in the trunk as Gibbs takes shotgun. Wait. Gibbs takes shotgun. As in, Gibbs isn't driving. McGee seems confused by this too, but says nothing and walks around to the driver's side door.

"How's Ziva." I ask softly as McGee starts the car.

He's silent, as he turns the car into the near-empty street in front of the airport. "She's…" the pain in his voice is evident, and I see Gibbs rest his head in his hands. "She'll be okay."

We're all silent.

"Abby's been keeping her entertained." He says finally.

"What happened to her?" I ask, and my voice is hoarse.

"She hasn't talked about it too much. Just said that she was compromised on her mission." He says, and his voice seems hoarse too. "She looks… Well, I don't think compromised quite covers it." He ends bitterly, and suddenly I can tell he's been crying.

I feel sick.

"I talked to Ducky. He wouldn't tell me everything, but based on his observations, he said she'd been tortured for at least two days. Deprived of food and water. Severely beaten, cut up, and then-"

"That's enough, Tim." It's Gibbs who says it, once again taking the words out of my mouth.

The thought of Ziva… tortured… Broken… _Weak._

I really feel sick.

No. The newsreel footage of her in Morocco made me feel sick. The idea of not being there for her in Morocco made me feel sick.

This…

Sick doesn't come close to covering it.

-=-

**--==--**

**Reviews?**


	10. 10: From Where You Are

**Disclaimer: I've given up on these.**

**a/n: We've reached the penultimate chapter of this little ficlet. Do Tony and Ziva finally reunite in this chapter…? Yes.**

**Enjoy:**

**Ziva's POV:**

**--==--**

-=-

Abby is talking to me but I am not listening. I think she is trying to keep me awake for the arrival of Tony and Gibbs. It is not necessary.

I wish I could sleep, but I am not tired. Also, I would feel bad if Abby did all this talking in vain. I know it comes easily to her, but she looks like she is trying really hard. I have only received three hugs from her since my return. I feel like she is holding back for my sake.

Ducky and Palmer had long ago left my sanctuary in Vance's office, presumably to go home and sleep. After all, it was well past 3 now. Even Abby is showing signs of fatigue despite the several Caf-pows she has consumed.

I do not know what it is that is keeping me awake. Perhaps it is the change in time zones, or the excessive amount of sleep I have had in the past few days. More likely it is my anxiety over the arrival of my boss and partner. No – former boss and former partner.

My correction makes me sad, and I look up at Abby. She stops talking, though I wish she hadn't. I feel oddly exposed.

"Ziva," she says softly, taking a seat next to me on the couch. I give her a small smile, and she wraps an arm around me in a half-hug. "We love you. All of us. Please don't forget that."

"I know you do." As is often the case, saying it out loud helps me fully grasp the concept. _They love me_. And they do. And I actually love them. "I never want to leave NCIS." I say it because it is true.

Abby makes a loud squeaking noise before throwing her other arm around me and squeezing it tight.

"I don't think we'd ever let you go again, Ziva."

And all of a sudden, I am crying.

Again.

Damn it.

I pull back to wipe my tears away just as there is a loud knocking at the door, and McGee pokes his head through. I stand up quickly, and have to steady myself with a hand against the wall as the head-blush ensues.

"Hey, Ziva, Gibbs and Tony are here." The door opens fully to reveal two of the most important men in my life.

Gibbs is first to rush over to me, enveloping me in a tight hug. I expected this from Abby, but from Gibbs?

"I'm so sorry, Ziver," we whispers softly. I do not have the heart to tell him apologies are a sign of weakness. His voice is breaking me, and I press my face into his chest to prevent further tears from falling. "I will never let this happen to you again."

I want to believe him.

So I do.

I do not know how long it is before he pulls back, leaving me with a kiss on the forehead. Abby then attacks him in a hug and I am left looking at Tony, who has not moved since he first entered.

Gibbs, McGee, and Abby have the courtesy to pretend to be conversing as Tony and I watch each other from across the room.

He does not look much different from the last time I saw him. He has a lot of scruff, and his hair does not have its normal bounce. Other than that, it looks like the same Tony. Arm in a sling, tight suit, piercing green eyes.

Definitely Tony.

I am trying to dissociate myself with emotions as Tony's eyes bore into my own. I am trying and failing.

I want nothing more than to be angry with him, but I think I-

He is walking towards me now, and I can clearly see the water in his eyes. It hurts my heart.

But I keep looking at them as they get closer, and closer. Finally, he stops.

I do not think I am breathing.

What exactly am I supposed to say? What exactly am I supposed to feel?

"Ziva," he says softly, his voice unsteady.

I have yet to look away from his eyes. I do not think I can.

His hand is suddenly on my chin and moving gently up my cheek. I do not want to like the feel of his touch. But I do, and I allow my eyes to close.

I hear him sigh, and he removes his hand. I do not want to open my eyes. I do not want to see him right now.

"I'm glad you're back." He whispers and I open my eyes now, only to find him walking away.

I do not want to stop him.

There is something separating us; it used to be miles. Now… I do not know. But even though we were just so close, even though we were just touching, I have never felt further away.

And I have never missed him more.

Gibbs, Abby, and McGee are staring at me at the door shuts behind him. Luckily, I am spared the awkward conversation that was sure to ensue as the door opens to reveal a very tired Vance.

"Ziva. Your father is on in MTAC."

"That's a warm greeting, Leon." Abby says coldly, and McGee's eyes widen at her rudeness.

Luckily for her, Vance ignores it and I slowly walk out of his office. As he holds the door open for me he mutters quietly, "It's good to have you back, David."

I take note of the lack of an "officer" in his address.

-=-

Vance leaves me as I enter MTAC seeing the familiar face of my father plastered on the big screen.

"Shalom Ziva." I hear him say. He sounds genuinely happy to see me. I wish I could feel the same about seeing him.

"Shalom."

"There are no words to describe how elated I am to see you."

"I am sure." I would normally never be this rude to my father, even under the circumstances.

But Tony is in my mind.

"I see you are not in the mood for pleasantries. Shall we talk business then?"

I am silent.

"I think it is best if you stay with NCIS." He states nonchalantly. Because clearly transferring agencies – internationally no less - is not a big deal.

"So do I."

"You like it better there, no?"

Again, I am silent.

"Ziva, it is not easy for me to let you go like this. You are my daughter, and I love you. I wish for you to stay at Mossad. But you would like to be at NCIS, and Leon is very happy to have you there."

I nod.

"Ziva, can you not speak?"

I can only imagine how Gibbs would've reacted to that. Or Tony.

"You have no idea the hell I just went through." I say through my teeth, the anger finally catching up with me.

It took me long enough.

I mean, he is the one who sent me to get tortured. He is the one who essentially forced me to leave NCIS. He is the one who trained me to be an assassin. He is the one who never came to my dance recitals. And he is the one who did not cry when Tali died.

I hate him.

"I do not. And I am sorry for the fact that you went through what you did. Sorry does not even begin to cover it."

"Why did the US Navy have to save me then?"

"Surely you know the risks involved with recovering a compromised agent."

"I am sure the SEALs did too. But they still went. They still found me! Why do they care more about me than you?"

"Ziva, they do not care about you more than I do. I do not know why they searched for you, but it does not matter now." He takes a dramatic sigh and rubs his temples. "If I felt it would have been safe to put on a search, then I would have."

I am still silent, anger coursing through my veins.

"I still am your father, Ziva. And I still love you."

"You are not my father."

I say the words before I truly have time to process them. His look of shock is reply enough for me, and I turn on my heel, slamming the door behind me.

Gibbs is waiting for me outside on the catwalk, and I walk straight into his arms.

At the moment, I do not care how weak I look.

I need this.

-=-

**--==--**

**I hope you guys are still enjoying this. Only one chapter left.**


	11. 11: Happiness

**Disclaimer: I feel like we've been over this…**

**a/n: Here it is. The final chapter. Suddenly "The Final Countdown" is playing in my head.**

**And now it's playing in yours.**

**Tony's POV:**

**--==--**

-=-

Ziva's face flashes through my mind as I descend the steps of the catwalk. It wasn't as bad as it looked in the photo Director David showed us, but it certainly wasn't good. I could see the places where she'd been hit. I could see where she'd bled and where she'd bruised.

The marks weren't fresh, but they definitely looked… Suffice to say, I'd rather they weren't there.

I roughly open the file cabinet behind my desk, pulling out a fresh shirt and deodorant.

God, I want to hold her. I want to make sure no one ever touches her again. But she doesn't even want to see me.

Can anyone blame her?

I'm one-handedly unbuttoning my shirt as I see Gibbs walk out of Vance's office, resting against the railing of the catwalk.

I look up at him, and he nods at me, communicating something. Normally, I'd have no trouble figuring out what he's trying to tell me, but right now…

I take off my sling, and begin the painful process of putting on a new shirt.

I need to accept it. Me and Ziva… Ziva and I… we're never going to go back to the way things were. We're never going to have that kind of relationship again.

Even if she forgives me, which seems doubtful at the moment, there's no coming back from the place we're at right now.

I hear a door slam shut, and look up to see Gibbs wrapping his arms around a very fragile Ziva.

When Ziva David allows herself to be helped like that… I can't fathom the torture she's been put through. And I definitely don't want to.

It takes me a while to button up my shirt, and when I do I see that Gibbs is once again alone on the catwalk, facing me.

Where'd Ziva go?

"Conference room." He says, reading my mind. I hate it when he does that.

Screw it.

I determinedly walk through the bullpen and up the stairs, taking two at a time.

"Tony." Gibbs says, standing in my way as I reach him.

"Don't stop me boss. I just want to apologize to her."

"I'm not stopping you. You forgot your sling."

"I don't need it."

"Tony, be careful."

"I'm not going to hurt my arm."

He sighs.

"Not your arm. It's… She's not doing well right now. I don't know what your planning on saying to her… but be careful."

"What are you expecting me to do? I just want to tell her I'm sorry."

He opens his mouth to say something, but quickly shuts it.

I'm confused, but I continue on, resolutely walking to the conference room.

I'm going to make it right.

I knock lightly on the door, and I hear a soft "come in." The first words I've heard her speak for way too long.

She is sitting at the far end, staring blankly down at the table. She doesn't look up to see who I am. She probably already knows.

Ninja powers, or something.

"Hey," I start softly, taking a seat at the other end. I don't think she wants me to be any closer. "I just… want to make sure you're doing okay."

She looks up, though not at me. "I am fine."

"Ziva..." I don't know what to say next, so I stop. She is looking at the table again. "It's okay to not be fine sometimes. This is one of those times." I finish finally.

He gaze still rests on the table.

I sincerely doubt the furniture merits that kind of attention.

"I can understand if you don't want to talk to me, or – see me. I do understand. I just…" Suck up your pride DiNozzo. "I'm sorry."

"Apologizing is a sign of weakness." She says blandly.

"Maybe it is. But… You were right." I have her attention as she finally meets my eyes. "I was jealous."

Normally I'm very good at reading Ziva's thoughts. Not at the moment, however.

"But that's not why I shot him."

I expect her to scoff, or call me out.

She doesn't.

"I'm sorry I killed him. You're right. I could've shot him in the leg. But it was a reflex. When you see someone come at you like that…" I stop, realizing that another recap of the fight probably isn't what she needs.

"Tony," her voice is hoarse and I feel a sharp pang.

I don't know how many times she's said my name in the past. But this was easily the most heartbreaking to hear.

"Ziva, please let me finish." I ask plaintively, and she nods.

I'm going to get through this.

I'm the one who's not making eye contact now, as I try to muster up all my courage.

"I care about you, Ziva. More than… More than as just a partner. And you have no idea how hard that is for me to admit."

She gives a short laugh, and even though I know it is probably done ironically, it still makes me smile a little. God I missed her laugh.

"So even though you probably hate me more than anyone else in the world right now, I just… I want to make this right. And I don't care how long it takes."

She's silent, as she looks into my eyes. Probably trying to read my mind. If Gibbs can do it, than she certainly can.

"I guess, I'm just asking you to let me be here for you. I don't know what your situation is with Mossad-"

"I am staying with NCIS." She interrupts quickly, and I feel a wave of relief rush through me. I hide my smile before continuing.

"But, like I was saying, Ziva… I want to be able to help you. And I want to regain your trust."

I pause as she looks off.

"I'll do whatever it takes."

Silence.

"It is a worth a shot." She says after a long moment, and I can't stop myself from beaming. "And Tony, you were wrong."

I shoot her a questioning look.

"I do not hate you more than anyone else in the world. That honor belongs to my father."

There are several depressing things laced within her comment, yet hearing her say it with such levity makes me happy.

She stands up, and I'm tempted to help her, but I know she would refuse.

I'm silent as she walks over to me before lightly placing a hand on my good arm.

"Things are going to get better between us, yes?"

"They aren't going to get any worse."

She smiles.

God, I love that smile.

"Goodnight, Tony" she says, and walks quietly out of the room.

I don't know why I feel happy. Maybe it's not that I'm happy, it's just that I'm not depressed, which is a welcome change from the past few weeks.

I don't know how long it's going to take us to repair our relationship. But I don't care, because one day we'll get there.

Even though that day is not today, I still feel happy.

Or happy-ish. Perhaps that is good enough.

-=-

**--==--**

**That is it.**

**The end.**

**I sincerely hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.**

**I already have ideas for a sequel in my head. I don't want to write one… but I totally want to write one.**

**Damn indecisiveness.**

**Anywho, tell me what you think. I know it's not the happiest ending, but it's happy-ish. And perhaps that is good enough?**

**Yes, I did just quote my own story.**

**I'd say that rates at about an eight on the lame scale. Maybe eight and a half.**

**Okay. Now I'm just stalling. I really don't want this fic to be over, but alas, it is.**

**I guess I'll stop delaying the inevitable now…**

**Thank you for reading.**

**-Fin-**


End file.
